


Perspectives

by horatiofrog



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Gen, have I mentioned this is OC-driven?, its a dovetail of another original series, mentions of most of the main characters, this is really OC-driven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 04:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17501213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horatiofrog/pseuds/horatiofrog
Summary: Clay and Justin are attacked by home invaders.  The rest of Crestmont--including Liberty High-- weighs in.This is an OC-driven series that dovetails off of Bitterblue33's "Some Baptize in Water, Some in Flames."





	1. Miles Christopher

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Some Baptize in Water, Some in Flames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15579033) by [Bitterblue33](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitterblue33/pseuds/Bitterblue33). 



> I am in LOVE with Bitterblue33's work "Some Baptize in Water, Some in Flames", and I wanted to see how the other citizens of Crestmont would react to the scenario she presents there. This is the result.
> 
> Authors Note: This is going to be VERY OC-driven. Canon characters will appear, but often briefly or as mentions. Please consider this as you continue forward.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sophomore acquaintance of Clay and Justin's reacts to the news of their attack.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, son.  Dinner almost ready?”

Miles Christopher pulled out the pan of lasagna, taking a second to brush his wet, over-steamed bangs away from his forehead.  He pulled his glasses off and began the process of defogging them.  “I’d recommend waiting a few minutes before eating,” he said, smiling at his dad.  “Unless we want holes burnt through our mouths.”

Jack Christopher smiled, putting his coat on the battered hanger that lived in the side closet.  “I can wait.”

“Oh, good, because I haven’t finished the salad yet.”  Dinner was often a quiet affair in the Christopher house.  Miles had managed to pick up a few things since his mother had run off, and he spent just as much time scouring YouTube for recipes as he did editing film for the varsity athletes at Liberty High.  “Plus I have a couple of things to edit for some baseball players, so there’s that.”

“Homework’s done?”

“Uhh…”

“Books first.  Video second.”  It was a firm rule.  Jack had barely graduated high school himself, and Miles knew his dad wanted more for his only son than menial labor.  Construction paid well, but took a toll on the body, and it showed.  About a third of his dad’s upper body was covered in athletic tape to support torn muscles and ligaments.

“Butch Kelly is gonna pay _double_ if I can finish his film before wrestling states,” Miles countered.  “And that’s in _four days._ ”

Jack shook his head.  “I’m not sure I want to know what you charge.”

His son shrugged.  “Nothing these guys can’t afford.  Plus, a lot of them are good guys.”

“I know.   Those two ball players…Dale and Pony…”

“Parker.”  Miles smiled a little, putting his glasses back on.  He picked up a spatula and gently began to scoop stuffed pasta from a large disposable metal baking pan.  “I know.  Three days.  And they still have me on speed dial.”

“Not just for film, I hope.”  Jack sat down at the tiny apartment-sized table, having poured each of them a Coke from the garage.

“I guess there’s a party, next weekend?  Nothing huge, just a few people.  I already got the invite.”

“My son, going to parties.  Is it sad that I’m kind of proud of that?”

“Not at all.  Wallflower wasn’t suiting me either.”  Miles brought out the plates, and both father and son sat down to eat.  They kept the conversation light, discussing school ( _algebra really sucks, Dad.  I mean,_ Clay Jensen _is tutoring me.  That’s like, a big effing deal.  And I_ still _can’t get it)_ and work ( _idiot kept trying to haul in red brick when the plans_ and _the customer specifically ordered cement block_ ) to fill the silence in the too-large house.  The drone of the eight o’clock news lingered in the background, but neither of them paid much attention to it.

An angry _buzzing_ sound split the conversation.  “Miles, no phones at the table,” his father admonished.

“I know.”  Miles swept a dusky finger across the screen of his new iPhone, shelving the text for later.  The sophomore knew his father only marginally approved of his son’s ‘side business,’ but even the elder man had to admit it did come in handy for getting a few extra things.  “Now, where were we?”

“A/V is going well?”

“Yeah.  Fives is planning on some big senior class thing…wants us to do a slideshow or something.  And by _us_ , I mean _me._ ”

“You’ll think of something.”  Plate cleared, Jack turned his almond eyes towards the tiny TV screen on the kitchen bar.  “Huh.”

Miles looked up from his last bites of lasagna.  He noticed his phone buzzing off the _hook._ “That’s weird,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“I mean, everyone knows I’m eating dinner at eight o’clock,” Miles explained.  “Why else would my phone be blowing up like this?”  Against his father’s protests, he flicked the screen open.

A hand flew to his face.  He felt sick.

“Miles?  Son, are you all right?”

The younger Christopher turned his gaze towards the small television.  “Turn it up, Dad.  Right now!”

Puzzled, Jack did.  _“The breaking news from the top of the hour…Police are responding to a vicious home invasion on the 3600 block of Acosta…Reports are that three men entered the home and brutally attacked the occupants of the home, two males, one an eighteen year-old and one just seventeen years old.  We go live to…”_

Miles was stunned.  “Dad, that’s the Jensen house!”

“Jensen?  You know these people?”

“Yeah!  Clay Jensen, the guy tutoring me?”  The he turned green again.  “Oh, God…”  He looked down at his phone and saw the plethora of texts.  Miles scrolled through each one, growing more and more sick and afraid for his friends.

“Miles?”  Jack’s voice was full of concern.  “What is it?”

A tear rolled down a long face.  “Dad…”  He tossed the phone on the table.  “Clay and his brother are in the hospital.  It…it doesn’t look good.”  He got up from the table and absently walked to the closet for his coat.  “I…I should go down there…maybe I can help…”

“Miles.  Take a breath.  Okay?”

The boy questioned his father’s directive, but did as he was told.  “Take another.  And another.”

He did.

“Right now, there’s nothing you can do for them, okay?  The police are taking care of things.  And though I know you mean well, sitting at the hospital isn’t really going to be very helpful.”

“Dad…I can’t just _ignore_ this!”

“There are other things you can help with.  I’m sure of that.”  Jack admired his son’s willingness to help others.  It was one thing he’d learned from _both_ of his parents, as much as he resented his soon-to-be ex-wife.  Richelle had been a warm, caring person…despite her penchant for straying.  “Gathering their work from school on Monday, perhaps?  Or seeing if there are any small errands the family might need done, maybe?”

Miles sighed.  “You’re right.  I’d just be in the way.  Still…”  Then an idea came to him.  “I could get a hold of everyone from school, spread the word…I mean…” The fifteen year old looked at his phone, scanning the texts.  “Wait… _what?_   Oh, that is _just…_ ”  The phone clattered to the table again.  “That fucking _asshole_!”

“Language, Miles!”

“Look!”

Jack picked up the phone, greeted by the image of a smoking gun.  It was crudely drawn, and at the top of the drawing in giant letters read: “ _RIP Jensen Brothers”._

“It _has_ to be Monty.  That _asshole_!”  Miles was beside himself.  “ _That’s_ what I can do.  I can help get those things flagged and reported.  Clay and his brother don’t need that crap, not now…”  He shot off a couple of texts.  “I bet Cyrus would help.  Maybe Tyler…”

“Tyler Down?  Miles, I’m not so sure…”

“Dad, look, Tyler did his time.  He’s a lot better now.  A/V has to work a lot with yearbook, especially since A/V has a staff of one.  At least Tyler knows how to get around social media firewalls and crap.  He could show us how, and maybe we could find whoever’s doing this!”

With that, Miles headed for the stairs.  He paused briefly only to chuckle as he scanned his phone.  “Seems I’m not the only one with that idea.  I guess some of my athlete friends are planning to take it to Monty in person.  Can’t say I blame them.  Hey, can I go over to Cyrus’s?  I could do more from there, and it’s a good place to meet.”

Jack was silently applauding his decision to get to know the parents of his son’s friends as much as possible.  “Sure.  Take what you need if you’re going to stay over.”

“Thanks, Dad.  I…I’m not sure I want to be at school Monday morning.  At least, not without backup.”

“You know something?  I kind of have to agree with you there.”


	2. Scott Reed (ft. Butch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott Reed picks up the early chatter concerning the attack. Butch joins him, and learns more about Liberty High's resident psycho(s).

“I bet it was dope, dude.”

Scott Reed shook his head.  “Man, no one’s gonna cause _that_ kind of carnage over a little pot!”  The idea was ludicrous, and sadly, it wasn’t the only one of its kind the baseball player heard that morning.

_“Justin’s running from the mob!”_

_“Maybe there was something in the house…something no one knew about?  Diamonds, gold?  From the previous owner, maybe?”_

_“Ain’t no one_ that _rich in this rinky-dink town, dumbass!”_

Scott silently had to agree with that one.  The Walkers were pretty much the town of Crestmont’s answer to one of those robber baron dudes from way back.  The teen shuddered.  Even with how everything threw down since Hannah’s death…Scott _really_ didn’t want to think about how he’d spent an awful lot of time partying with a convicted _rapist_ _.  
_

As he passed through the halls, more theories flew.

_“Wonder who Jensen pissed off this time.  I mean, come on…”_

_“Just because you got busted getting your girlfriend to give you the exam answers last week.”_

_“Hey, I needed those!  You know how hard it is to get into Duke when you’re failing trig?”_

“Sounds like Bobby Caldwell needs to spend more time studying and less time scoring,” Scott said half-aloud.

“Man, I hear ya, brah,” Butch said.  The champion wrestler tried in vain to squeeze through the crowded hallway, walking faster to keep up with Scott.  The kid was an island unto himself.  Six feet, eight inches, and weighing nearly half as much as a killer whale, it was like watching a graceful walking Polynesian beach ball every time Butch _moved._   “Shame we couldn’t dish out some payback on that dipshit Monty though.”

Scott seethed.  After seeing the graphically insensitive social media posts celebrating the attack on Clay and Justin, a large contingent of athletes – led by Scott and Butch – literally _scoured_ the streets, seeking the blood of one Montgomery de la Cruz.  As he passed through the maze of hallways, Scott noticed that his quarry’s face was nowhere to be found.  “You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“Nah.  Big money’s on that he’s hiding in some locked closet at his old man’s house,” Butch said.  “Pussy.  I mean, who does that shit?  Takes cheap shots on guys who are, like, _actually_ dying?”

“Monty would,” Scott confirmed.  “Rumor has it he tried targeting them before.”

“For real, brah?”

Scott nodded, his sandy hair staying firmly in place.  Hair gel was, in fact, an athlete’s best friend.  “Something about that whole thing with Bryce Walker.  Apparently, it got _nasty._   Clay himself said the little fucker ran him off the road one night last year.  And that’s not what he did to Alex Standall.”

Butch stared, his dark eyes gleaming in a _dude-you-gotta-tell-me!_ sort of way.  “And?”

“Asshole taunted him about…well, what he did.  To himself, I mean. Even sent him an actual _gun._ ”

“That’s sick.”

“I know, right? Monty is a seriously fucking depraved individual.  Just ask Tyler Down.”

Butch shook his head.  “Not touching that, brah.  Not with a _million_ sticks.”

“Me neither.”  Reaching their first class of the day, Scott waited until Butch maneuvered inside the classroom and sat at the free table in the back.  Feeling like a rebel, Scott joined him.  “There’s a couple of places he might be.  Monty, that is.  But I gotta go myself.  I want him to suffer, but…we might spook him if we go guns blazing.”

“Dude, I don’t like that plan.  You just said he’s freakin’ psycho.”

“It’s just…I mean, I _despise_ the jackhole right now.  But _I_ wanna be the one to kill him, not his old man, okay?”

It took a minute for Butch to cotton on.  “Oh.  Right.”  He nodded, his triple chin wiggling a little as he did so.  It amazed Scott that for as large a guy as Butch was, he _still_ managed to attract more than his share of the hot girls.  “Hey, should we keep tabs on Walker?”

“Bryce?  What for?”

Butch shrugged.  “I mean, he and Monty were pretty tight, once…”

“Not no more.  Bryce kicked his psycho ass to the _curb._   Last I heard, Walker can’t even _pay_ to go drinking or get laid.  Way I hear it, he pretty much holes up in that guesthouse of his when he’s not at Hillcrest.”

Butch snickered.  “Gotta admit, that’s pretty funny.  Convicted rapist, doomed to repeat his last year at an all-guys school?”

Scott flickered a small smile.  “Oh, the irony.”


End file.
